The Wistful Throne
The taste of copper and rainwater was the first thing Sergeant Elias Thorne registered, a metallic tang that coated his tongue and burned the back of his throat, followed closely by the smell of wet wool and the ozone-shock of the electrical discharge that had just split the night air along the ridge of the Appalachian foothills. He stood there, pinned against the bark of a dead hemlock, his...
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